


don't tell me im not ready for love

by blackpercy



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, i cant believe im posting a grisha fic this is so embarrassing, small town AU, there are background relationships and all of them are canon, this is a darkling hate account, this is a malina one shots book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackpercy/pseuds/blackpercy
Summary: Mal is the towns star football player and Alina is a shy artist. Although they're completely different, they're the best of friends, and maybe something more.
Relationships: Mal Oretsev/Alina Starkov
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	don't tell me im not ready for love

“Apparently my mom was Caribbean.”

Mal didn’t even bother to knock as he barged through Alina’s previously ajar door. Her current state of shock missed him completely as he flopped onto his best friend’s bed.

Alina blinked, then blinked again. A six foot boy with light brown skin and brown hair that curled near the ends was lying star-fish style on her yellow comforter. Mal wasn’t just any boy, though, he was her best friend, always had been. And he was still her best friend when he loudly interrupted her homework time, which was always her sketching time in addition.

“You got the DNA results back?” Alina asked, moving from her desk to sit next to him. “That’s great! What about your dad?”

“What do  _ you  _ think my dad was?” Mal sighed, lifting his face to reveal baby blue eyes that made Alina’s breath freeze in her lungs. “He was Russian, Scottish, Spaniard, your typical average white dude.”

She smiles at that and pulls her short legs into criss-cross applesauce. “Your mom? You only said she was Caribbean.”

“She was, like...Haitian.” He rolled over to face her, directly below her inviting face. “It’s nice to know, I guess. I’m glad I got the opportunity.”

Alina already knew where her parents were from. They were Asian, immigrants from Russia, born in Japan and Singapore respectively. That was what her foster parents told her, and that was what she knew. 

She wasn’t like Mal, she didn’t really want to know everything about her past or herself. Alina just wanted to build a portfolio and get into art school, a ticket out of their stupid small town. 

“Hey,” Mal’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, friendly and soft. “What’s going on up there?”

Alina hummed and leaned back to rest against her headboard. “Dunno, just thinking about my parents. Being a foster kid is weird.”

“You’re telling me,” he snorted and turned to face her again, refusing to sit up. “Mrs. James still calls me ‘that boy’ when she thinks I can’t hear. I feel like she thinks I’m super fucked in the head, and that I’ll snap one day and kill them all.”

“You  _ are _ super fucked in the head, though.”

He threw a pillow at her as she laughed at his expense.


End file.
